


Light in the Dark

by goldenwatcher



Series: What Went Wrong [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Demon!Aziraphale, Dubious Consent, F/M, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Genderfluid Aziraphale (Good Omens), Violence, it as a pronoun, mind control/enthrallment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21501328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenwatcher/pseuds/goldenwatcher
Summary: Lucifer plants a seed of question in Aziraphale's mind in Eden, leaving the principality horrified as he finds his wings blackened by a Rebellion he doesn't want.orAziraphale's background for a Role Reversal series.
Relationships: Aziraphale/OMC, Aziraphale/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)
Series: What Went Wrong [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546552
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	Light in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> I kept the use of Aziraphale's name in this story because it starts with him as an angel.
> 
> Also, a note on pronouns:  
> Angels and demons go pretty consistently by he, she, or them. Aziraphale's pronouns tend to shift depending on how he is presenting. There are two individuals who refer to Aziraphale as 'it': a angel, and the great dragon Leviathan. Leviathan calls anything lesser than them 'it', and the angel is an asshole. Just to warn you.
> 
> Also, I do terrible things to our sweet principality.

Aziraphale wandered through Eden, admiring the newer plants. He liked to see the work the Virtues had put into creating everything, although he did his best to stay out of their way. He’d been assigned to the Eastern Gate, but the humans were not there yet, and he was enamored of the peaceful beauty of the place.

Movement off to the left caught his eye through the foliage. He ducked over, intending to quietly observe the work of the crafters of Heaven. Instead, he was shocked to find the Morningstar fingering the fronds of a fern. The Archangels rarely made an appearance at the Garden. If they did, it was usually Raphael checking on the work of her Virtues. Aziraphale had always made sure to be at his post and out of the way when she appeared.

Lucifer looked over at him with starfire eyes. “And you are?”

He nearly gulped. “Principality Aziraphale of the Eastern Gate.”

Lucifer glanced over that way, noting their distance from the gate. “Really?” he asked pointedly.

Aziraphale flushed. “I rather thought I was to guard the humans and they are not here yet.”

Lucifer seemed to consider that, studying him. Finally he smiled, pleased. “Point in your favor.” He gestured around them. “What do you think?”

“It’s astonishing,” he said, hoping that was the right answer. “Such a variety of green. It’s very beautiful.”

“It’s a lot of work for the new project.” The Archangel looked around. “Shelter, flowers, food, all for new pets.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Food?” he asked tentatively. “What is that?”

Lucifer’s eyes, if possible, lit up further. He walked over to one of the trees, plucking a bright orange ball from it. “The humans are not directly connected to God and so must generate their own energy to sustain them.” He pulled the outer skin off the ball, revealing a wet inner core. “They consume things to generate this energy. These things are food. This is an orange, a piece of fruit.” He held out a wedge of the flesh to Aziraphale. “Try it.”

Aziraphale took the piece and eyed it. It smelled amazing but he had no idea what to do with it. Lucifer took a piece for himself and bit into it, chewing. Aziraphale mimicked the action and his eyes widened.

“Why, that’s wonderful!” he exclaimed, reveling in the sweet taste. He ate the rest and took more when Lucifer offered it.

“It is,” Lucifer agreed. “I wonder why She saved it for them.”

Aziraphale paused. “I don’t understand.”

He was led off to another plant and Lucifer picked a different fruit. “I just wonder why She saved this for humans and did not share it with us.”

Aziraphale considered that. “I’m sure it is part of Her plan, of course.”

“But how? What is significant enough about food to deny this pleasure to us?”

He stilled, studying the fruit in his hand. “This… it’s not forbidden, is it?”

“I’ve heard nothing of that,” Lucifer replied casually. He picked at his own piece. “I just wonder why not let us have such a simple thing?”

Aziraphale at the kiwi, enjoying it as much as the orange. It was a curious thing, he supposed. Angels did not require food, but they had nothing like the Garden in Heaven. There was some green, clean lines and grasses, but nothing lush like Eden. He didn’t envy the humans, but it was indeed a curious observation.

Lucifer came back a few more times, finding Aziraphale at the gate and showing him the fruits and vegetables around Eden. They discussed the gift their Creator was giving the humans. Aziraphale was sure there was a reason for it, but he did rather wish such things were more available to them. Lucifer noted that, once everything was ready and the humans were in the Garden, all of it would belong to them and they wouldn’t be able to enjoy the fruits anymore. That was rather disappointing.

* * *

Aziraphale was on the wall, gazing out over the desert when the clear call of Gabriel's trumpet sounded. His head jerked up in shock, astonished and confused. Nobody had ever told him what to do if the trumpet sounded. Was he supposed to leave his post to answer the summons? He glanced around, expecting a Dominion to tell him where to go, but he saw no one. He appeared to be the only one in Eden.

Then a form moved behind him. A small, dark-haired Dominion stepped forward. “Principality Aziraphale?” At his nod, they gestured and, relieved, he followed.

Aziraphale had rather expected to go to Heaven. Instead, they went to a distant galaxy. There was a gathering of excited angels, all busy arming themselves. To his surprise, he was led directly to Lucifer.

The Archangel’s bright eyes were glowing hot as he looked Aziraphale over. He seemed pleased; Aziraphale was not. “Is something wrong?” the Principality asked. “Why was the summons announced?”

Lucifer grinned. “There’s a rebellion in Heaven!” Several angels shouted in excitement. “There was a call to fight.”

“Who is rebelling?”

Laughter met his question, jeering and uncomfortable. Lucifer arched an eyebrow. “We are.”

Aziraphale blanched, taking an involuntary step back. “What?”

“The summons was against us, Principality,” the Dominion said, strapping on their armor.

Aziraphale was alarmed, afraid, and helplessly confused. “But I don’t want to rebel. I don’t… why?”

“You already have,” they replied.

“God has marked those She has deemed fit for punishment,” Lucifer said. “There is no longer a choice in the matter.”

“Marked? What sort of mark?”

Lucifer spread his wings. The Dominion followed his example, and soon others did as well, surrounding Aziraphale in a sea of char-black feathers.

He felt cold, his chest tight at the horrific sight. Lucifer clapped him on the shoulder and leaned in with a sharp grin.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured. He then pulled away, barking orders as the crowd followed him.

Aziraphale stood frozen for a long moment, his body flooded with ice as terror consumed him. All he had to do was look… but Lucifer had seemed so sure. Had he done something wrong? Should he not have eaten the fruit? Had even his simple questions been too much, his curiosity so great?” He forced himself to spread his wings, eyes forward, not daring to look. He curled them slowly forward until feathers touched the edges of his vision, sleek and black. He keened, collapsing to his knees as he turned his head. Sure enough, his own wings were as black as the others.

* * *

Aziraphale had refused to fight. He didn’t want to rebel against God and hoped desperately to repent. The first opportunity he had, he turned himself in. He was not the only one. They were contained in a blank room with no windows or furniture, a cell for all those marked and captured. As others were caught, healthy or wounded, they were brought to the cell as well and left to the mercies of their own kind.

Time dragged on in that cell in ways it never had before. One day, rather than bringing in new prisoners, some of them were removed. It was the more virulent of Lucifer’s supporters that had been attacking him and the other deserters, so Aziraphale wondered if it was possibly for their protection. Yet, as time meandered on, more were removed in a steady progression. He heard someone ask what was happening, but the guards never said. Swiftly, they were called out in groups until Aziraphale heard his name. Helpless, he obediently stepped forward. They bound his hands in manacles and set him off with the rest of his group, following the pathway cleared by watchful Thrones.

When he stepped outside, he saw the Host of angels, either watching or standing guard. He and his group were moved forward down the path. Looming high above them all on a calling tower, a Cherub stretched forth their wings and roared.

“Rebels in the face of the Lord, our God!” they cried, voices ringing. “You who have been marked by Her will: your coup has failed, and justice will be met. By the will of our Creator and yours, you are to be exiled from Heaven and banished from Her Presence and Grace for all of Eternity.”

Some cried out at that, some wept. Aziraphale felt a shock spear through his core. Most of his group was composed of those who had not wanted to rebel, who had refused to fight against God, so there had been some hope, but it was now dashed. Aziraphale felt oddly distant as he was herded forward with the others until the very edge of Heaven itself. There, they were lined up, being forced one by one to show their wings by the Cherubim. Aziraphale didn’t want for a superior to approach him, not wanting his only encounter with the choir to be something so awful. He felt ill at the thought of those clawed hands touching him, the scintillating faces watching him with disdain as he was forced to reveal his blackened wings. Numbly staring at nothing, he opened them himself so that no one would approach him. After all of their shame was revealed, the Thrones moved down the line and the marked ones were forced off the edge.

Again, Aziraphale couldn’t stand the thought of being touched and tried to avoid it, but he couldn’t bring himself to voluntarily step off either. He was crowded, feeling smothered and hunted, but before anyone could make contact, he felt his foot step back onto nothing. He stumbled, unable to maintain his balance, then Fell.

There was something indescribable about that movement through the air. His wings were out, but he couldn’t seem to catch himself or even slow down. The further behind Heaven fell, the more distant was Her Grace until it felt like a gaping wound in his chest, impossible to breathe around. It almost seemed like he’d be left there, hovering forever in that painful, empty space, but then darkness flooded his vision, heat seared his skin, and he hit the sulfur, drowning as it burned the last of Her away.

Aziraphale struggled, the manacles melting away in the heat, the pain incinerating his nerves. His feathers felt flooded, his wings dragging him down. In agony he struggled, mindless of anything but the need to escape the horrific pain. It seemed like forever, and perhaps it was, until he felt a hard surface beneath his feet. He scrambled for it, pulling himself out of the sulfur pool, choking on the thready wails that squeaked from his throat.

Out of the pool, Aziraphale collapsed to the rock, shuddering and wheezing in horror. The heat of the sulfur quickly faded, steaming away from his skin, leaving behind a bitter cold that pierced into the hole in his core. The agony of Her absence consumed him, gnawing at his gut, and he wrapped his arms around himself with a mindless whine. He had never felt so unbearably  _ wrong _ .

“Well, look what we have here,” a voice nearby sneered, close enough to be heard over the screams that echoed from the Fallen. “Another deserter.”

Aziraphale opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was that his skin was on fire, a low blue flame licking over him everywhere. In a panic, he tried to put it out, but it was undeterred by him.

A hand grabbed his shoulder. The fire flared brightly, painful and dizzying. There was a scream and the hand fell away. He looked up to what see he supposed was a person stumble back, clutching at their hand. They collapsed and moaned, misery crippling their features.

“What’s this, then?” their companion said, watching in disbelief.

“Cold,” the stricken being stuttered. “S-s-so-so c-cold. Make it st-stop. Make it stop!” they whined, curling into a ball.

Aziraphale stared in shock, reeling. He felt ill; he felt frozen. He couldn’t understand what was happening. He lifted his hands to stare at the fire all over him. It lay easy on him, ebbing low until it sank beneath his skin.

“What did you do?” the voice accused. Hands grabbed him, hands he still didn’t want and wasn’t ready for, and everything in him lashed out as he struggled. Aziraphale snarled, glaring at his captor and baring his teeth as he fought.

“Unhand me!”

The being’s eyes widened as they met Aziraphale’s stare, then they went glassy. They dropped him, standing there blankly as he fell to the floor and scrambled back.

“Interesting,” a rumbling voice purred.

Aziraphale jerked around and stared in shock at the large red being before him. Black leathery wings seemed to stretch deep into the darkness above, a crown of horns sprouting from the being’s head. Somehow, Aziraphale knew that this monster was Lucifer and was both drawn to and deeply terrified of him.

Lucifer looked down at Aziraphale, the former angel trembling as black eyes studied him. “Command him back into the sulfur,” he was ordered.

Aziraphale turned immediately; questioning the order never crossed his mind. He looked at the other former angel as they blankly stared off, awaiting instructions. Like an animal trapped under the gaze of a larger predator, unable to refuse his new master, Aziraphale commanded the mesmerized being. ‘“Drown yourself fin the sulfur pool,” he ordered. He immediately balked at his words, but before he could take it back, the other angel turned and obeyed, heedless of the flames.

He was horrified. Had he really just commanded a fellow angel to drown themself in sulfur and was obeyed? How could he do that? What exactly had been done to him?

“Very interesting,” Lucifer purred, pleased.

Aziraphale couldn't disagree more. Amidst the screams from the suffering and dying, he scrambled up and away from Lucifer, then blindly ran.

* * *

Aziraphale avoided the others. They also avoided him; he heard it was from Lucifer’s command. He was unsure why his new master would be so kind and it left him afraid, wondering if it even was a kindness. He also heard of demons, as they were now known, taking up new names. He didn’t didn’t understand why until he realized that he couldn’t speak his name. That had been another descent into hysteria.

The more he saw of the other Fallen, the more he wondered what was wrong with him. They were swarmed with illness and misery, biting insects and horrible marks. He couldn’t see any such things on himself, but then again, he couldn’t see all of himself either. Perhaps all of his damage was internal; for the longest time, all he could feel was panic clawing up his throat and the deep pit at the heart of his being that ached for something to fill it, to leave him warm and whole once more.

The blue fire reappeared, particularly when the despair consumed him. He always felt it under his skin, as if it stole the warmth from the air, leaving him bitterly cold. He sometimes wondered if he’d ever be warm again. He played with the fire, learning to control it, slowly becoming numb to the frigid pain that accompanied it. In the beginning, he had hoped that finding a way to extinguish the fire would help warm him, but it never went away. The most he could do was pull it beneath his skin, hide it inside of himself.

It wasn’t uncommon to find other demons skulking in the lesser used passages as they tried to reorientate themselves to their new existence. They usually wanted to avoid Aziraphale as much as he them. In his wanderings, he was startled to come upon a wall of obsidian, its surface reflective enough to see himself. He was both eerily unchanged and frightfully different. He hadn’t lost weight, and yet he seemed gaunt, his natural softness still there but shadowed and hollowed to make him look wane. His skin was ashen, his pale blond curls now stark white. He could see no wounds or boils, but there also wasn’t a lick of color to his features, any flush of warmth drained away. His eyes were a terrible exception. The sky blue was now truer, deeper, and burned with the same flames that danced over his skin. He teeth seemed normal but perhaps just a bit sharper, more predatory. He looked spectral, wraithlike.

The horror of their situation dug at his heart while the desperate hunger churned within him, leaving him hollowed out and empty, a pin drop away from madness. He constantly fought to drag himself back from the edge and eventually decided to more seriously explore their new home, to take in everything he could. He still wanted to avoid the other denizens of Hell, and so did his best to stick to the shadows. However, he was so pale, his eyes alight with blue flame that just wouldn’t leave, that he couldn’t blend into the darkness. Anyone who met his eyes went glassy and still, caught in some sort of enchantment. Aziraphale did his best to avoid it until the events of the day of the Fall faded from general memory and other demons took his refusal as submission. At first, Aziraphale used it strictly for defense, to make his harassers go away. Then, he slowly allowed himself to experiment, reasoning that he needed to learn the extent of what he could do. After all, they were practically volunteering for it.

It was definitely some kind of enthrallment. Anyone who met his gaze was drawn to him, and would do anything he told them to. In time, he grew more curious if there was a limit to what they would obey. Of course, he only experimented on those who attacked him first (volunteers), and the guilt of it slowly faded under his justifications. He found that they would let him do anything, would obey any command, endure any pain, and would even let him end them.

The fire was different. He learned to control it so completely that he no longer had to think about it, an extension of his will, though he could never extinguish it from his eyes. The fire seemed to be connected to the voracious, frozen pit at the core of him, but he didn’t know how. It occurred to him that he could try burning one of his volunteers to see what happened, but the fire had always let him bitterly cold and empty; he was afraid of what might happen. The flames certainly didn’t cast heat to warm him: not even hellfire could do that, but he learned to summon it, ball it, throw it defensively. It just never let himself use it on another.

Word got around about his mesmerizing gaze and his experiments. Some demons grew scared and stayed away from him, fearful of what he could do. Others took it as a challenge, determined to find a way to circumvent his power and put the deserter in his place. There was one that had been convinced he’d make a name for himself if he tried. He was huge, almost grossly so, close to eight feet tall with muscles and fat leaving him enormous. His eyes, however, were black and almost comically small, squinting slits that could see very little. His other senses more than made up for his near-blindness. He could easily navigate Hell and held his own against any challenger, of which there were few. He was convinced that he would be safe against Aziraphale’s power and would make a name for himself against such a dangerous opponent. The crowd cornered Aziraphale not far from the sulfur pools, a large gathering to see the deserter suffer at last.

The fight was going about as well as any of the demons had hoped. Aziraphale couldn’t use his gaze against someone who couldn’t see his eyes, and while he was a skilled soldier, he was physically no match against such an enormous opponent. He maintained his distance, desperately trying to think of something to fight back with. Without weapons or claws the only thing he had remaining to him was the blue fire and he couldn’t imagine how it might be effective enough to help.

He was slightly too slow and was grabbed by the back of his neck and lifted, the mole-demon’s huge claws digging into his skin. Desperate, Aziraphale let the blue flames erupt over his skin. As before, his opponent shrieked as the fire caught hungrily at his hand. Aziraphale dropped as he was released and rolled into the landing, twisting to lob two more balls of flame that hit square into the demon’s chest. The demon stumbled, patting clumsily at the flames to put them out, a low, pained moan rumbling from his throat as he couldn’t stop the spreading fire.

Then something strange happened. As the demon whined of being cold, stumbling in efforts to fight the flames, Aziraphale started to grow warm. The feeling trickled over his skin, glowing like the sun over Eden, and snaked into that empty place inside of him, pooling. He sighed in surprise and pleasure. The fire, responding to his hunger, flared and enveloped the mole-demon, making him cry out, high and keening. The others stood in terror, watching as Aziraphale ruthlessly ignored the plaintive cries, euphoric in the sudden warmth and satiation. He tipped his head back, letting the fire consume and fuel him, overwhelm him. Eventually, the heat stopped flowing in, but all that had filled him sat in his core, glowing. He opened his eyes, wondering drunkenly why it had stopped.

The crowd had stepped back or fled, leaving a wide circle filled with revulsion around him and his opponent. The mole-demon was curled up on the ground, twitching, grey, and wilted. He was still so tall, so long, but the mass of him was gone. He was nearly skeletal, looking almost desiccated, and whimpering in breathless huffs on the floor. Aziraphale felt flushed and warm, and quickly realized what had happened; after all, Lucifer had taught him about food in Eden. He had consumed the demon’s life, but he couldn’t actually kill him, so it left him a nearly-empty husk. A part of Aziraphale shrieked in revulsion, but another piece, lusciously sated, enjoyed the satisfaction of finally feeling whole and warm.

As time passed and Aziraphale wandered, the feeling started to fade. Other demons had avoided him before, but now the lesser ones actively fled his presence. He ignored them and opted to continue his wandering as he struggled to keep his gnawing starvation in check. It could be so easy to consume them…

He’d probably stepped foot in every room in Hell except Lucifer’s (now Satan’s) throne room. Aziraphale had no interest in drawing his attention ever again. He’d even explored the Pits and had found them less than appealing, seeing the first humans start to trickle into their torments. He preferred to stick to the outer edges of Hell, avoiding the other denizens, or lingering at the sulfur pools as he contemplated how this might fit into Her ineffable plan. That was where the other demon approached him. He felt power from the creature, their teeth sharp and needle-like, with pale scales and silvery eyes. They didn’t appear aggressive, however, stepping up in an almost business-like manner.

“Deserter,” they said, as if for want of something to call him rather than any true concerns over his actions. “I am Dagon, Lord of the Files and Master of Torments. I am collecting a record of Hell and everyone’s specialties and I have no name for you. Normally, I’d make something up, but I say you’ve earned a choice.”

Pick a name? Aziraphale kept his gaze politely averted as he listened, studying them out of the corner of his eye. They really did seem to be rather bureaucratic, both bored and impatiently awaiting an answer.

Obviously, he couldn’t use his name as he could no longer speak it. He’d like his name, and some of the things he’d heard other demons called were ridiculous. /he considered, staring absently at the sulfur.

“Ezra,” he answered. It felt appropriate.

“Ezra,” Dagon repeated, as if to make sure they had it right. “Incidentally, you are more than welcome to wander any part of the Pits you see fit. The humans seem to find your ghostly, hungry presence unnerving, and the demons are rather inspired to work harder. It’s perfectly bad for morale.” Then they turned and walked away, business concluded.

“Er… thanks?”

* * *

Aziraphale heard of the fall of humanity and their banishment from Eden. Hell had been gleeful, the little serpent who had tempted Eve a bit of a celebrity for a short while. Aziraphale wasn’t really impressed. It had taken her a week, the timid thing. How hard was it to convince a human to bite an apple?

Then, one day, another demon approached him. This one was a lesser creature, quaking as he stepped forward, hair spiked like horns. “Ex-Excuse me, Ezra?” He seemed desperate for a title to call Aziraphale, as if groveling respect might prevent his demise.

“Yes?” Aziraphale replied, vaguely curious.

“You-you are to appear before Prince Beelzebub.”

Aziraphale knew who Beelzebub was. They were the Dominion who had been Lucifer’s general, and was now Satan’s second-in-command. He hadn’t come across them since the day they led him from Eden and he had no idea why the Prince of Hell would be summoning him. Still, it was not something he could ignore so he gestured for the messenger demon to precede him. The creature seemed uncomfortable with Aziraphale at his back, but no one really wanted him to face them either. He was led through the halls as if the general populace might offer some safety. The crowd parted, refusing to be close enough for Aziraphale to brush against them, some fleeing the sight of him.

He entered Beelzebub’s throne room and glanced around. There were some Dukes and Lords about, members of the established hierarchy of Hell. Aziraphale ignored them and stepped before Beelzebub on their throne, eyes on the Prince’s feet and head inclined down respectfully. He may be a demon, but he didn’t have to be rude.

“You called for me, my Lord?” he asked. He could feel Beelzebub’s calculating eyes on him, the buzz of flies rather annoying.

“The deserter. Who would have thought that you’d make such a name for yourself?”

He had always thought it strange that they called him ‘the deserter’ as if he’d been the only one. He’d learned, however, that the others had all been tortured, tormented into cementing their allegiance. No one had tried to capture Aziraphale, even during his occasional rounds through the Pit. To his knowledge, Satan had not rescinded his order to leave Aziraphale alone, and the Dark Council seemed to think his self-exile was enough to keep a watchful distance. Thus, he was the only remaining deserter who had not openly pledged loyalty to Satan.

Despite all of that, Aziraphale was not eager to refuse any commands. He had learned that it was better to stay silent and listen. He opted not to respond to the Prince’s goading, figuring they would get around to the point in their own time.

“We have an assignment for you. It’s time to earn your keep.” They pointed at a cork board off to the side.

Aziraphale curiously approached it. There was an image of a human man and a paper with information on it. Apparently, the man was named Palusum. A demon had made a deal with the human: his soul in exchange for being the greatest fighter alive. The wish had been granted so the soul was theirs, and the man was alive on Earth.

Aziraphale glanced at Beelzebub, who had moved up behind him. “We already own his soul.”

“Do you know what a reaper is, Deserter?” Their voice buzzed like the drone of their flies.

“I confess I don’t.”

“They follow around the ones who make deals, and cull the souls we own. This deal has been made; it’s time to cull.”

He nearly jerked in shock. “You want me to kill a human?”

There were snickers from the witnesses. Beelzebub merely raised an eyebrow. ”Obviously.”

“But I--”

“You enthrall people, steal their free will; you can’t damn souls if they don’t have a choice, so what else are you good for?”

The question brought the greater reality of what he’d become to the front. He was aware he was a demon, of course; it wasn’t like one forgot the Fall. Demons were servants of Hell and slaves to Satan. It was their master’s decision to try and claim God’s humans, to corrupt Her precious creations. That was their purpose. He knew other demons worked toward that purpose, but had never really considered his place in that scheme. If he couldn’t tempt and manipulate, what was left indeed? Lord Dagon liked it when he wandered the Pit; it would be all too easy to be forced down there to torture instead, and the idea was beyond anything he could tolerate.

Aziraphale looked back at the image again, feeling ill. “I’ve never…”

Beelzebub was unsympathetic. They tore the image free and smacked it to his chest. “You will now. Get up there and don’t come back without that soul.”

* * *

Aziraphale appeared in the town Palusum lived in and cautiously wandered, exploring. According to his understanding, it had only been five hundred years since Eden, but the human population was surprisingly vast. He’d never met a human and wasn’t sure how they acted or what this Palusum was like so he just wandered, observing.

The humans seemed distrustful of him. He was pale and strange and kept avoiding their gazes, using skills learned over uncountable time to avoid contact or conversation. It caused the men to posture aggressively and the women to bypass him warily. He saw his target near a tavern, surrounded by warriors like himself, drinking and bragging. Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to get close without being stopped and if he enthralled Palusum and lured him away, his companions would surely follow. Aziraphale didn’t want to have to kill more humans than he needed to and he wasn’t sure he could win against them all in a mele fight. He had to think of a way to get closer.

He wandered, blending as well as he could into the shadows and urging humans to pay him no mind. Curiously, he saw that women were able to approach the group and even saw one lead a man away without being followed. A curious glance showed him why, something to do with their mating practices. Yet, this wasn’t exclusive to just the warriors. The women were often ignored or treated as if they were harmless, passing through the crowds almost freely in a way that Aziraphale needed magic to accomplish. He considered this carefully as he turned and left, meandering out of the town. He found a boulder some distance into the desert and sat on it to wait out the rest of the day and consider his options.

Aziraphale had been created with what appeared to be a male presentation and he kept it because that was how God made him. He was comfortable that way. However, he had no issues with the female presentation and altered himself and his clothes appropriately. The next morning, once the town began to stir again, she went back into the village.

The attitude of the people was starkly different. No one tried to meet her eyes. Most ignored her. As male, they saw the entirety of his presence and were wary and suspicious. As female, they only seemed to see pieces of her. She was created as a warrior, but had a soft roundness that had not entirely faded, even if the Fall had made her somewhat hollow and gaunt. Some people looked at her and saw the shadows in her cheeks, the downturn of her lips, and the lack of healthy color in her skin. Others saw the fullness of her figure, the bounce of her curls, and the line of her neck. Still, there was the rare few that saw the whole package and stayed far away from her.

Her target was in the second group. Aziraphale felt his eyes land on the long length of her exotic white hair, move to her ivory cheeks, then down her form, draped in stark black. She turned her head slightly and met his eyes, felt her power leave him slack-jawed and obedient, then smiled coyly and beckoned him. Masculine laughter filled with lustful knowing came from his companions and they did not follow as she led him away, out into the desert. She guided him to her boulder then paused, feeling suddenly hesitant. The hunt had been one thing, the curious puzzle of how to isolate Palusum from his protection interesting, but now the challenge had been met. All that was left was to cull the soul, kill the human. Aziraphale swallowed, unsure for a moment if she could do it.

The unfortunate truth of her situation was that she didn’t really have a choice. If she failed Beelzebub’s task, she would be tortured herself and eventually assigned an even worse job. She would never be someone who could blend in with the humans and encourage their downfall. At least with this job, she wouldn’t be corrupting innocent souls. The ones she would hunt would already be corrupted, already damned to Hell for their choices. She was just hastening their inevitable arrival. It was simple, clean in a way. Bolstering her courage, Aziraphale stepped forward and placed her hands on Palusum’s chest, then unleashed her blue fire.

The human did nothing as the freezing flames consumed him, helplessly mesmerized. His body jerked and twitched but his eyes remained glued to her, not a single sound coming from his throat. Aziraphale sighed softly, feeling the warmth the fire brought, luxuriating in the satiation consuming him brought. It was rather temporary, of course. In a relatively short time, she felt the soul separate and the fire die out. She kept her eyes closed, enjoying the faint warmth while she could, even as she felt the infernal psychopomp snag the soul and leave.

Eventually, Aziraphale opened her eyes to face what she’d done. The human’s remains were a skeletal husk on the desert floor. Consuming him hadn’t been particularly satisfying; obviously, a human was not going to be as filling as the mole-demon had been, but it was still a little disappointing. A part of her was horrified, but she was starting to become tired of that part, the bit that was still a soldier for God. She had put her into Hell, so it was Aziraphale’s job to deal, and hand-wringing her lot was not going to help her survive. She wasn’t even entirely sure she felt bad. She hadn’t talked him into the deal, just delivered the consequences of it. Musing on it, she turned away, leaving the corpse and making her way back down Below.

The moment she arrived, the messenger demon from before was back. Aziraphale’s eyebrows went up. “Lord Beelzebub?” she asked. He nodded nervously, but she just followed.

Beelzebub was on the throne again with Dagon to their right. On the left was a pedestal with a rounded object on top, covered in a tattered black cloth. Aziraphale walked up and stopped before Beelzebub again, eyes lowered obediently.

Beelzebub stared at her for a long moment, the entire throne room silent except for the buzzing of flies and a strange, low, despairing moan. Then they removed the cloth.

A large, round vessel made of glass was on the pedestal. Inside was a soul, sickeningly thin with a strange blue glow. Its eyes were empty pools, its mouth a gaping maw as it moaned again, the sound almost perfectly mirroring the fierce hunger that gnawed at Aziraphale’s core. It noticed her, then fought against the glass, pawing and groaning as it tried to get to her. At first she thought it wanted to attack, but she could feel its adoration, a longing to return to her, to let her consume it beyond existence, to feed her.

Beelzebub looked to Dagon. “Can you work with that?”

They snorted. “Nothing to work with. My best torturers can’t get despair like that. I say keep it in the vessel away from Ezra and be done with it. Seems torture enough.” Dagon cocked their head. “‘Course, the soul belongs to Ezra.”

“And Ezra belongs to Hell,” Beelzebub buzzed harshly. “End result is the same.”

“Still, might not want her as a reaper.”

“The stupid waste of space that brokered that deal made the human a better fighter than even us. We spent months trying to cull him. Five demons were discorporated. She did it in a day and a half.”

Dagon shrugged, acknowledging the point. Aziraphale felt a little ill. She had just put herself at the top of Hell’s list of efficient murderers.

Beelzebub turned back to her. “I’m assigning you long term to Earth as a reaper. We’ll periodically send you instructions and targets.” They leaned forward. “Ezra, look at me.”

Aziraphale hesitated, but she lifted her eyes to meet Beelzebub’s. Her power reached out automatically and it clawed at the prince, trying to find a way in, but Beelzebub held her out. The agitated buzzing of their flies belied the effort they were exerting.

“You are  _ not _ to use your fire to execute your targets. I don’t care what else you do, but those souls belong to Hell. Got it?”

Aziraphale considered the instructions for a moment, searching for hidden meanings and loopholes. Finally, she nodded. “Yes, my Prince.”

Beelzebub waved their hand, dismissing her.

* * *

Aziraphale stayed in her female appearance. She found it easier to move around that way, and any unwanted attention was handled with her gaze. She had to learn to dial the power back, even if she could never turn it off. It was annoying when she fried a person’s brain and they followed her around like a love-sick puppy until she was forced to kill them.

Over the years, she tried various ways to eliminate her targets. She tried daggers first, figuring the swords she was familiar with were too suspicious and daggers were close enough. There was something unnerving in the way her victims didn’t even flinch at being stabbed. Instead, they remained kneeling, eyes blank as their life faded. Aziraphale didn’t exactly enjoy watching them die, preferring to move on with her day, and the stabbing took too long, so the next time she cut her victim’s throat. That was far faster, but ridiculously messy. She’d needed to magic everything clean. Strangling or breaking their necks was cleaner, but more effort than she really wanted to expend and not always as effective as she’d hoped. Poison was either too slow or too messy; one woman had even kicked her with her unseemly thrashing.

Aziraphale was still consider her options when the rains began.

There was a part of her that desperately believed that all of her suffering was a part of God’s plan. She’d struggled when she had first heard of Noah and his ark. She couldn’t comprehend what could cause God to flood the region, wiping out everything. It gnawed at her, but as she watched the flood waters rise, she began to understand.

The children were swept away first, then the invalid who couldn’t keep their legs. When humans began to realize what was happening, some fruitlessly tried to escape. Some, however, took advantage. The looting and thieving was shocking, which was ridiculous coming from a demon. As she watched, a woman struggled against the water. Nearby on a rooftop, a burly man reached out to help her up. She had barely opened her mouth to thank him when he pushed her to the rooftop and began pawing at her clothes.

Aziraphale hadn’t much of an opinion on crimes of a sexual nature, mostly because she hadn’t an opinion on sex. She had always dealt quickly and efficiently with anyone attempting to touch her, no matter the reason, and didn’t typically interrupt her hunts if she happened to come across such violence. However, the feeling of violation the victims were left with was one she did understand, all too well. The irony of the nature of her hungry, consuming power was not lost on her.

Seeing red, Aziraphale appeared on the roof behind the man, jerking him off of the screaming woman. The man stumbled, turning with a growl, but hesitated when he saw her: a ghostly pale woman in all black, white hair stringing and sticking to her, sharp teeth flashing as she snarled. Aziraphale took the opportunity to shove him off of the roof.

The man splashed into the flood waters and struggled to stand. Aziraphale swept his legs out from under him and grabbed the front of his robe, hoisting him up to her face. She glared into his eyes and once he went slack, she shoved him under the water.  _ Breathe _ , she commanded into his mind. The man’s chest rose under her hands then he jerked, his body twitching spasmodically. It was no effort to hold him under; she didn’t have to cut off his airway. All he did was obey, then a few short thrashes and he was gone.

Aziraphale released him, letting the body float away. A shrill scream tore her around. The woman she had saved, rather than being relieved, was terrified, screaming her foolish head off. Aziraphale snarled in disgust and lifted a hand to shut her up, flinging blue fire at her. As the woman burned, Aziraphale glanced around and decided she’d had enough. Presuming one of the many psychopomps in the area would collect the souls, she spread her wings and flew off. She was sick of the waters, although drowning might be the answer to her conundrum. It wasn’t easy to set up, but it did add to the thrill of the hunt. Eventually, she landed in a quiet cave in the mountains and settled down to sleep. It was a foolish, human thing that she had picked up, but there could have been worse things to waste her time with. She refused to eat and drink, and really only found pleasure in the consuming of others, which she tried so hard not to become addicted to. She couldn’t spend time in human settlements for fear of enthralling someone and dealing with that headache, and so often spent long, lonely periods of time out in the wilderness. Sleeping was a pleasant way to forget and waste away the time.

A soft whimpering woke her. Blearily, she looked around then nearly shrieked, backing away.

The soul of the woman she’d burned was there, weaving between her ankles and cooing in adoration. Like the previous one, its eyes were black and mouth a gaping maw. It clung rapturously to her, obsessive and hungry. In its core where it once had a heart, a blue flame licked at its being.

Aziraphale panted, trying to still her heart. After a moment, she scowled. “Why has no one picked you up? Get lost.”

The soul didn’t obey.

With a growl, Aziraphale pulled away and fled again. There was a lag, as she was faster than the soul, but it unerringly found her, as if the fire was a beacon.

Aziraphale raced across the globe, trying to shake the soul. She even ducked down to Hell, since the soul was too good and was bound for Heaven, but when she returned, it still found her.

Eventually, she settled into another cave, huffing in annoyance. The soul appeared a few hours later, curling around her.

Aziraphale didn’t know why an angel didn’t claim the soul during the flood, but they might not have been able to keep up with her frantic bouncing around. Perhaps if she stayed still, they would come and fetch it. She really didn’t want to have her first run in with an angel, but she wanted to be rid of the soul more.

Aziraphale woke in the night to movement in the cave. She jerked up and saw the soul, its blue light hovering in the air. In its light she could see a human man. He was looking down at her, eyes wide in wonder. She could practically see the story he conjured in his head: a blue light leading him through the forest to an ethereal beauty asleep in a cave. He was probably already envisioning her has his wife. Disgusted, she waved her hand and made him collapse, then turned to the soul with a scowl.

“What is this, then?” she said, gesturing to the man.

The soul sank slightly, whimpering at her in sadness.

“You cannot lead humans to me. What am I supposed to do with them?”

The soul moaned hungrily.

“No! I don’t want  _ you _ following me. I’m hardly about to make another.” She glanced at the man and noted he’d most likely be for Heaven and wasn’t about to cull a soul for them anyways.

As she considered the man, an interesting thought curled in her head. She’d never really had the chance to interact with a lone human before. If she wanted to move from reaping to tempting, she would need to learn and this was an opportunity to try. Decided, Aziraphale bound a cloth over her eyes to hide them and laid back down, willing the mortal upright and awake as she feigned sleep. The soul hovered in the air above her as the man gasped softly at the sight of her, sinking to his knees. She felt a hand touch her hair and stirred, pressing against it as she ‘woke’.” When realization would seize her that she was being touched, she gasped and scrambled back.

“Who’s there?” she asked, trying to sound frightened and small.

“I mean you no harm,” he said soothingly. “Why are you out in a cave, all alone?”

She thought quickly. “The specter,” she said. “It haunts me. I’ve been chased from my home and have nowhere to go, and I’m so hungry.”

“Are you?” he asked. He carefully cupped her cheek.

She hadn’t considered how handsy he might be, but supposed it wasn’t surprising. Humans liked to touch what fascinated them. “Please, sir. Do you have food? I would do anything to eat.”

The air shifted, a tension rising. Something had crossed the man’s mind; Aziraphale could sense the darker thoughts that tempted him. She leaned into his hand, turning her face into it blindly. She could almost hear him swallow.

“I have some cheese,” he said vaguely, but didn’t offer it to her.

“I haven’t much; what will you have for it?”

That seemed to make him nervous and he pulled his hand away. She listened to him rustle about, ignoring the moaning of the soul that only she seemed to be able to hear. She smelled cheese before her face. “Here,” he said, placing it gently against her lips.

Aziraphale had not through far enough ahead to consider she would have to consume food. She hadn’t done so since Eden and wanted to balk, fighting a sudden roiling in her stomach. She clamped down on it hard. She would not allow her reticence to get in the way on this. She parted her lips around the cheese, letting it and the tips of his fingers slide into her mouth. She closed her lips around them, licking the delicious, stimulating flavor and he pulled away so she could chew.

She hated how much she loved the feel of the food in her mouth. “More?” she forced herself to ask, trying to sound small.

The human was silent for a long moment. Again, she felt that wave of tension. “You’re so very beautiful,” he murmured.

She rather thought he could hardly see in the pathetic light of the cave. Still, Aziraphale turned her face away, as if shy. “You are too kind.”

“You have no one?”

“No. Please, sir,” she begged.

He fed her another small piece of cheese. “I could take care of you.”

And back to the delusions of marriage. She wanted to shudder. “It is not possible, sir. I am cursed, haunted.”

She felt the lightest touch of fingertips on her ankle, causing her to jump in surprise. It wasn’t like Aziraphale had been touched much in her existence; she actively discouraged it. However, this was the first skin contact in so long and he was so very warm. She tightly curbed her hunger.

“I don’t mind,” he murmured.

“You would be run from your home. Please, ask of me anything but that.”

The fingers pressed more firmly against her skin. “Be mine.”

“I cannot,” she begged, a bit annoyed. She couldn’t understand why he would want to marry a stranger he found in a cave based on what she looked like in the dim light. Humans were ridiculous.

“Well, if you don’t want the cheese…”

Was that extortion or blackmail? Either way, it was a step in the right direction. She reached for him pleadingly. “Please.” She didn’t grasp, just placing her hands on his chest. “I cannot marry you.” She left the statement hanging, letting him work out what he might want instead.

His fingers slid slowly over her ankle to nudge at the hem of her robes. “Not even for one night?”

Aziraphale stilled. On the one hand, the human was coercing a starving, cursed woman for sex with food. She could sense the scales tipping, though it wasn’t yet enough to damn him. On the other hand, it for some reason hadn’t occurred to her that this might be the result. She was certain that, if she went through with the temptation, that it would be a foul enough thing to damn him. The problem was that he was obviously an ordinary man, and ordinary men sometimes backed down in the face of acting on their dark desires. There would have to be follow-through in order to claim his soul. That left Aziraphale in an awkward position: she could either give it up as a lost cause, or let the human touch her as he wished. She really didn’t see the appeal, and in fact was a little nervous about controlling her hunger with so much contact from his warm skin, but she also didn’t want to be a murderer forever. She firmed her resolve and focused on her corporation, making it fully sexed as she tipped her face away, as if unsure.

“One night?” she asked tentatively.

He rewarded her with another small piece of cheese, his hand drifting under her robe. “Just one night,” he promised. She felt the lie. “You’re so beautiful. Let me have you.

She didn’t refuse, but also didn’t immediately acquiesce. The hand continued up, caressing her thigh, making her skin twitch at the strange sensation. When she didn’t fight, the other hand joined in, pushing the skirt of her robes up. He moved over her, forcing her back onto the ground.

“Let me have you,” he murmured possessively into her ear. “Have you ever been touched like this?”

Strangely, she didn’t trust her voice just then. She shook her head slightly even as she reminded herself that she was the demon and in control of the situation.

He groaned and pushed the skirts up to her waist, baring her to the cold night air. His hands went to her thighs, spreading them a bit forcefully. Aziraphale grasped at the ground around her, searching for something to hold on to. She was uneasy but forced it down, determined to claim his soul.

She heard him fumble at his clothing, then his hands were on her waist, dragging her closer over the stones, forcing her legs wide around his hips. Something hard pressed against the unfamiliar sex she’d created, then was forced inside. She gasped in pain, unable to stop it, the hard pressure relentless. She grabbed his shoulders to ground herself, but he interpreted it as an attempt to make him stop and took hold of her wrists, pinning her down.

“It’s okay,” he breathed against her neck, making her shudder away. He was obviously excited by the way her legs trembled around him. “It’ll feel better soon. Just relax. Put your legs around me.”

Aziraphale hesitated, panting even though she didn’t need to breathe. She lifted her legs and wrapped them weakly around his hips. Satisfied, he moved, pumping hard once and she winced. It didn’t feel any better, and she didn’t feel like she had control. People enjoyed this?

“Oh, you’re like an angel,” he groaned, not endearing himself to her. She wanted to hiss but he pumped again and she whimpered instead. He ignored it. “Sent down from Heaven, just for me.” He released one of her wrists and reached down between them, his fingers drifting over her. There was a spot between her legs that he touched and Aziraphale’s body jerked like she’d been shocked, gasping involuntarily. He kept his fingers there, rubbing and tweaking and pinching at her in such a way that she felt her body tighten but also brought tears to her eyes. It was overwhelming, just a shy too painful to truly be considered pleasure, but the next time he moved, it was slicker, more easy.

“Such a good girl,” he purred into her ear, as if she was a pet. Aziraphale tried to turn her face away but he pulled his hand free and buried it into her hair, holding her still as he began pumping in earnest.

It was uncomfortable, bordering on painful. Even thought she was pinned in place, she felt like she was sliding over the stone with nothing to brace her. Her free arm was pinned under his where he grasped her hair, forcing her head still so that all of his obscene noises were moaned into her ear.

“You feel so good,” he gasped. “I could never give you up. Say you’re mine. Say it.”

Aziraphale grit her teeth. “I can’t,” she said, and hated the way her voice trembled.

He didn’t like that answer. His next thrust was harder, making her cry out in pain. “You’re mine,” he snarled possessively. “I’ll fill you with my seed, make you stay. You gave yourself to me, whether you like it or not. You’ll have nowhere to go once I put my baby into you.”

She couldn’t think as he rutted into her hard, wild and greedy. All of her focus went to staying silent and yet pained, helpless noises were forced out of her. Finally, he buried himself deep inside of her. She felt the warmth of his release, revulsion welling in her throat. Then he collapsed on her, panting and still buried inside.

Aziraphale forced herself to stay calm. She wanted to  _ BURN _ him, to consume him until he was a hollowed out husk then cast him into Hell and away from her to suffer for all of eternity. She also wanted nothing of his inside her ever again, not even his life. She took a second to breathe, to pull her focus away from her corporation and toward his to sense him. Sure enough, it had been a great enough sacrifice to tip the scales in her favor.

“But darling,” she purred, the sound nearly a growl. “You haven’t even seen my eyes.”

* * *

Aziraphale awoke to the morning sun streaming through the mouth of the cave. She stretched and felt a twinge in her thigh that made her freeze. She had healed herself last night, setting herself back to rights but apparently her body refused to forget. She rose and glared at the crumpled form in the corner. Stepping daintily over the pieces littering the ground, she kicked the carcass viciously. The soul from the flood, still hovering about, groaned in agreement.

It was a moment until Aziraphale noticed it. The world seemed still, not a sound to be heard. She shifted, senses perking, then saw shadows over the cave mouth and jerked around. Two angels stepped inside, eyes flicking from the hovering soul, to the dead body in the corner, then to her.

“Disgusting creature,” one of them sneered.

“What do you want?” she said, tense. She kept her gaze between them, not wanting to know if she could enthrall them but needing to track their positions.

“We’re here for the soul,” the other replied, all business.

“Take it; it’s yours,” she said. “I won’t fight you.”

“What have you done to it?” the first angel, the brighter of the two, demanded.

Aziraphale said nothing. The business angel stepped forward and gathered the wasted soul. It struggled, fighting to return to Aziraphale with a horrible wail.

“Remove your power,” the brighter angel snarled.

She shrugged. “I’m not doing that. I don’t control it.” She could of course, but she wasn’t just then.

The second angel left, taking the soul with them. The first stayed, eyes on her.

“What now?” she asked warily. She didn’t want to fight.

“You’re an abomination.”

That stung. “There’s no need to be rude. You have what you came for. You should leave.”

He pulled the sword from his belt. “I’ll not leave you to butcher any more of Her creations.”

“I don’t wish to fight you,” Aziraphale almost pleaded.

“I do.” He lunged.

Aziraphale danced around the attack, fire at the ready. He dodged the first ball and the second, moving to strike. She wove to the side and caught his wrist.

The angel screamed as the fire surged over him. Aziraphale gasped, his energy almost too hot for her. He tried to lash out, but she easily maneuvered around his clumsy strikes. Then pain erupted in her stomach and the fire winked out.

Aziraphale looked down, shocked at the blade sticking out of her stomach. It was pulled free and she stumbled, collapsing onto the floor. The second angel had returned, and they checked on their partner. The brighter angel gasped, glaring at her.

“I could feel it feeding on me,” he said, disgusted and horrified. “It must be ended.”

“Should I get holy water?” the second angel asked, seeming a bit uneasy.

Terror seized Aziraphale, overriding the pain. She met the second angel’s gaze, easily consuming the weaker creature’s will. Her hands flamed, then she was on her back, the brighter angel above her. It was much too like the night before and she went wild, struggling as best as she could. Pain lanced her throat. She saw the spray of blood and choked, gurgling.

Then she was by the sulfur pools, the screams of the damned echoing. She blinked, looking around, and tried to put together what happened as she grasped at her throat. It took a moment for the panic to fade enough to her to think, but when she could, she froze. She’d been discorporated. That bastard had cut her throat.

Rage seared through her, blinding in its intensity. She threw her head back and howled, blue flames erupting in a wide circle around her. Nothing was close enough to be consumed but the other demons in the area scattered.

Aziraphale clamped down tight on her fury and whipped around and stormed through the halls, intent on another corporation as soon as possible.

As it turned out, Beelzebub had noticed her temptation of the human man. They hadn’t seemed impressed, but they did congratulate him on ‘cross training’ and suggested there might be more in her future. She was still wrathful enough that the disgusted feeling that fluttered in her stomach could not dissuade her from her intent. She received a new corporation and went back to work, more determined than ever.

* * *

Aziraphale watched silently as the nails were hammered, making the man cry out. She had a thin linen cloth bound over her eyes, allowing her to see through it and prevent anyone from meeting her gaze. She had been shocked when she’d received the order to tempt Christ, but had done her best. He had not budged but it had been pleasant to talk to someone, rather than them cowering away or ordering her about. What really shocked her was when he had bid her to uncover her eyes. No one had met her gaze with such gentle eyes since before her Fall. It was beautiful, and it hurt, and the cries made the memory burn. She stayed, a silent witness as the Christ suffered and died, loneliness eating at her.

* * *

The glasses changed everything. She could finally hide her eyes without obscuring her vision. In fact, it was actually easier for her to see, since her eyes were adapted for darkness. She felt like she could finally enter a town, but reactions surprised her when she did. The attention she garnered was absolutely not what she was expecting. The women thought her pretentious and the men constantly hounded her to “show us your pretty eyes.” Frustrated, she left town. After four thousand years appearing female, she finally switched back to her male presentation and tried again the next day.

Just as before, reactions were a complete one-eighty. Sure, some of the humans treated the strange man suspiciously but most accepted him as new in the city and either ignored him or treated him like everyone else. It delighted him, but the male form was still more difficult to lure his targets with. He slacked off from culling and turned his focus to manipulation, learning as quickly as he could to earn the change in assignment.

It actually surprised him how easy it was. Most people seemed to think him ethereally beautiful and were intrigued by him. It made it easy to get close and learn what he could. His natural allure reflected as a coyness that enticed. It took him no time at all to receive his assignment change. Sure, he still had the occasional murder that required his skill set, but he thrived in manipulation.

But still, that loneliness never faded.

About twenty years after the death of Christ, Aziraphale was in her female form in a city, laughing drunkenly as she guided her target by the hand. It was more difficult to find a way to drown them in the city without getting the guard involved, but her practice with tempting and manipulation made her better suited for those assignments. She was not as drunk as she seemed, but he certainly was, stumbling over his feet as she led him across the square. She made to pass the fountain in the center, but then misstepped and stumbled with a giggle. He tripped against her and fell into the fountain. Aziraphale reached for him with a laugh and caught his eyes, then forced him to breathe, holding him down even as it looked like she was drunkenly trying to help him. It didn’t take long and he soon stilled.

Aziraphale turned her head to shout for help when a shock ran thought her. Like a nightmare, she saw the bright angel that had discorporated her centuries ago, one of his hands raised and his mouth opening to speak. Aziraphale was away from the fountain and miracled dry by the time the words fell from his lips.

The angel smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Rats.”

Aziraphale’s heart was pounding from the close call. It was perhaps the only downfall of drowning, an angel blessing the water while she was in it. She smoothed her gown. “We should take this elsewhere.” They were in public with a dead body floating in the fountain.

“Away from the holy water? I don’t think so.” He pulled a dagger.

She stared at him. A fight would draw attention from the humans. They were not supposed to be so obvious. “You’re going to draw the guard.”

He stalked forward. “There won’t be anything left to worry about.” He struck out at her with the dagger, forcing her to dodge. She summoned her own weapon, hearing alarm from humans as they fought. She tried to enthrall him but he pointedly watched her form, and she couldn’t start throwing around fire out in the open like they were.

She could hear the guard coming and was trying to figure out how to escape the confrontation when the angel dipped his hand into the fountain and flung holy water at her. She shrieked and dodged, scampering back, done playing by the rules. She summoned a ball of fire and flung it at him while humans ran screaming. It hit him square on the chest. With a dark smile, he reached up and smothered it.

“I’ve learned a thing or two over the years,” he said, grinning.

No one had ever been able to put her fire out before. “Oh, fuck,” she breathed.

Aziraphale desperately tried to think of a way out. Perhaps she could attacked the humans, but there was no guarantee he would defend them. She managed to trip him but he grabbed her hair and they went tumbling together. With his grasp, he slammed her head into the stones beneath them twice, stunning her. As she laid numbly, he dragged her by her hair to the foot of the fountain.

Aziraphale lost her mind. Her wrath from her discorporation resurfaced and she erupted in blue fire, but he was undeterred, struggling to force her into the water. Her rage and fear ate at her, giving her strength, making her  _ burn _ .

Suddenly, the angel screamed and released her, scrambling away. Aziraphale whipped around to see blistering burns all along his arms. The flames had slid from blue to a hot yellow, her eyes white fire. She knew instantly what it was: hellfire. She summoned balls of it into her hands. The angel scrambled back, eyes wide with terror as she struck. He screamed as he burned, disintegrating into ash.

Aziraphale panted, burning with hellfire in the silent city square. She raised her eyes. In front of her, across the square, was a Dominion, hand over their mouth as if they might be sick, and the Archangel Michael. She felt movement behind her and turned. Dukes Hastur and Ligur were there flanking Beelzebub. The dukes looked uneasy but Beelzebub seemed rather apathetic.

Michael stepped forward, approaching Beelzebub. “We must insist you hand over your weapon for extinction.”

Beelzebub looked unimpressed. “Your angel started this fight.”

“She burned him with hellfire.”

“He blessed the fountain.”

“Not demon can summon hellfire.”

“And all angels can make holy water.” Beelzebub buzzed, cocking their head. “If the angel didn’t want to be destroyed, he should have left her alone.”

Michael nearly grit her teeth. “They fought in front of humans.”

“She was defending herself and told him they needed to go elsewhere.”

Annoyance flashed in Michael’s eyes. “She should be destroyed.

Beelzebub merely smirked. “You’re welcome to try,” they purred.

The angels looked at Aziraphale, hellfire still licking over her skin as her eyes were complete spheres of white fire. In disgust, they left.

“Coward,” Beelzebub muttered. They looked at Aziraphale. “Put that out. You’re wanted Below.”

Aziraphale gulped silently and recalled the flames back under her skin, where they settled into her normal freezing blue. She followed the prince Below and through the halls of Hell until she realized where they were going.

“My prince--” she started.

“Silence.”

They arrived at two enormous, wrought-iron doors decorated with scenes from the Rebellion. The doors opened and Beelzebub walked in, Aziraphale trailing behind.

The space was echoing, a vast cavern strangely both hot and cold There were few demons about, mostly simpering servants and other lesser creatures. At the center of the room, a great dragon lounged to the left of a black throne. Their scales shimmered like the watery depths of the darkest abyss, a black that almost seemed blue, eyes like poisonous emeralds. On the right was a strikingly beautiful male, black hair and pale skin with eyes the thick, cloying red of blood. He had his feathered wings out, delicately decorated with jewels, and his clothes showed more skin than they hid. Between them, on the throne, was the Lord of the Pit himself, Satan.

Aziraphale didn’t want to see Satan, and she definitely didn’t want Leviathan and Asmodeus around for it. Still, she was helpless to do anything but obey. Beelzebub walked right before the throne and Aziraphale dropped to her knees a short distance back, eyes on the ground.

“The demon Ezra,” Beelzebub announced. She could feel the eyes of the council members on her, each considering how they could destroy her.

“What of it?” Leviathan hissed.

“She was involved in the disturbance on Earth. Fought the opposition in the middle of the city.”

“I’ve heard of this one,” Asmodeus said, his voice sliding over her skin. She was so very glad she made a point not to bother with genitalia, particularly in her female-presenting form. “The deserter who commands balefire.”

“Not just balefire.” Aziraphale could hear the growing glee in Beelzebub’s tone. “She destroyed the angel with hellfire.”

“It carried hellfire on Earth?” Leviathan snarled.

“She summoned it.”

The throne room went quiet. Even the lesser demons froze as the council members considered her.

“No one can do that,” Asmodeus replied.

“Very, very interesting.” Satan’s voice made her shudder, shrinking slightly in on herself. She remembered the last time he called her interesting, the day of the Fall, and with those words, she knew that he remembered her too, remembered everything she was Before, and what she had done after she Fell.

“Let’s see it then,” rumbled the dragon.

They went quiet, which meant they were waiting for her to obey, but she wasn’t sure how to repeat it. She swallowed and raised a hand, summoning her blue flame. Staring at it, she thought of the burn of the sulfur pools. Slowly, the ball tinged through to yellow and burned hot. it was far more difficult when she wasn’t fighting an angel for her life.

“I’d be more impressed if she didn’t look ready to faint from the effort,” Asmodeus mused.

“And you can do better?” Beelzebub sneered. “I know you’ve heard the stories. She’ll practice because that’s what she does and she’ll get better.”

Leviathan cocked their head, eyes bright with a feral glee. “We could set it to hunt angels.”

“No,” Satan cut in. “If we cause that kind of disruption to the balance, there will be retaliation. We’ll lose legions.”

“What is your plan?” asked Asmodeus.

There was silence for a long, painful moment. “Ezra,” Satan commanded, voice soft even as it carried.

She fought not to flinch. “Yes, my Lord?”

“Come here.”

Aziraphale rose and stepped forward, trying to hide how small she felt between the council members. She stopped about a food before Satan, but he crooked a clawed finger so she moved closer until her hips pressed against his knees. He then grabbed her by the chin, his claws scratching her cheeks.

“Look at me,” he nearly whispered. Trembling, she obeyed, meeting his fiery eyes. Her power didn’t even try to reach for him. He tipped her head this way and that like she was a doll he was inspecting. “Ezra the Deserter. You’re the only one that hasn’t pledged your loyalty in all of Hell, and you stand before me in my throne room before members of the Dark Council and call me ‘Lord’.”

Oh, shit. Her heart nearly stopped in terror. Of course he would want the loyalty of a demon that could summon hellfire.

“Apologies, my King,” she breathed, just happy she didn’t squeak.

“You were most unappreciative of my person attention last we talked, creature of Eden.”

She swallowed, her trembling increasing to shaking. “Yes, my King.”

“Thank your master for freeing you,” he snarled.

She didn’t even hesitate, pride abandoned. “Thank you, Master.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.” His claws dug into her flesh.

“Please,” she begged softly, hands flexing in an effort to not grab his wrist.

He pulled her forward, forcing her to awkwardly straddle his lap, one of her hands grabbing the arm of the throne to steady herself.

“I know how you claimed your first soul,” he whispered in her ear. “I know what you let that human do to you.”

Aziraphale hadn’t cried since Heaven, but she felt tears sting her eyes, terrified of what Satan was going to say.

“The Archduke of Lust is standing right there,” he continued. “Shall I give you to him to train?”

She wanted to beg. She didn’t know if she could handle being given to Asmodeus. However, she couldn’t think of what the right answer was. She swallowed, knowing she truly didn’t have a choice in the matter. She would do whatever he told her to, if only to survive. “As you command, Master.”

He was staring in her eyes. It was impossible for him not to see her terror, that she was trying to give him what he wanted to save herself.

“You will not hunt angels unless by my command,” he ordered. “You will not destroy an angel with hellfire except to save yourself, not even for another demon.”

“Yes, Master.”

Satan pushed her away, making her stumbled. Aziraphale fell and scrambled back, but forced herself to resume kneeling where she had started, eyes down. She felt his eyes on him as he considered her, blood sliding down her cheeks from the wounds his claws made.

“Asmodeus,” he said lightly, making her body freeze.

“My King?” the Archduke inquired mildly.

“You have twelve hours.”

Aziraphale choked down a sob. It was ridiculous to think that she might have escaped their torture for having deserted the rebellion. It had just been delayed forty centuries.

“Thank you, my King,” he purred. Asmodeus walked by and Aziraphale rose and followed, helpless to do anything else. She could have fought, of course, and maybe even hurt Asmodeus, but she couldn’t hope to win against Satan and he would destroy her.

Twelve hours later, Aziraphale re-entered the throne room, hollow-eyed. When Satan commanded a demonstration of what she’d learned, to prove her loyalty, she crawled onto his lap and gave him one without hesitation. He promoted her to a greater demon, to strengthen her connection to Hell and make it easier for her to summon hellfire, then sent her back to Earth.

Two years later, Aziraphale was hunted by a Dominion. The angel used a succubus to draw him out. He remembered her as a favorite of Asmodeus’. He watched dispassionately as she melted under the holy water, and when the angel turned on him, he left the ashes where they fell. Asmodeus had asked to punish him. Satan made him a lord.

* * *

Aziraphale knocked on the door. Hearing permission to enter, she stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.

Adam stood in front of the mirror, his sandy blond hair nearly dangling in his eyes. He met her gaze in the mirror, shielded from her power by the dark glasses she never removed.

“Adam,” she chided mildly, “you must only leave your guests waiting long enough to build anticipation. Boredom will make them think less of you, forcing you to punish them.”

“It’ll happen today, then?” he asked.

So he was nervous about gaining his powers. She stepped up behind him and smoothed the shoulders of his shirt. “Your Dark Father has a gift for you,” she said. “And when you receive it, you will begin to come into your power. Then you will rule the world.”

“How can I rule what I’ve already destroyed?”

She frowned slightly. “You will remake it as you desire. My darling, you know this. All will be yours.”

“Everything?”

“Of course.”

He looked up and met her gaze with his serious blue eyes. “Even you?”

Aziraphale knew that Adam had some sort of a school-boy fancy for her. She hadn’t tried to dissuade it or point it out, since it wouldn’t matter in the end. Still, a voice in her head asked what she would do if it didn’t fade.

“Even me,” she assured. “You will be the master of us all.” She stepped back.” Now go see what your Father has planned.”

Later, when the hellhound appeared and hilariously ate the dog the Dowlings had bought Adam, she walked away. She might pay for that later, but she hadn’t lied. Regardless of the distance, she belonged to the Antichrist. They all did.


End file.
